Entries tagged with punkensab

So, because ciderpress is the girl so nice we wish we could friend her twice, (no, really! We do!) and because she made me such fantastic icons, I wrote her a HIMYM drabble which bloated all the way up to 350 words. And then I grabbed Punk and commandeered her to write Psych, which I don't watch but which I clearly, upon learning about these characters, should.

In Canada, The Retailers Call Them "Igars" To Get Around The LawHIMYM, Barney/Robin, 350 words, by Sab

Took a little break from New Burbage to bring you this G-rated story about sex that Punk and I wrote!

Authors: runpunkrun and iamsabFandom: BonesPairing: Booth/BonesRating: GDisclaimer: It is unquestionably Bones' fault, except for any errors, which are probably Booth's fault instead. So if you find any, please point them out and we'll fix them.

As Punk and I assemble the Definitive Director's DVD cut of The Mind/Body Problem [SGA], we figure it's only fair to share some deleted scenes and bloopers from the earlier versions of this story. Enjoy!

runpunkrun: Tony taking ONE HELL of a shower.an onion girl: Tony is THAT KIND OF GUY. We should put Tony and Sheppard in a shower together.runpunkrun: Tony and Sheppard in the shower would be a SHOWER OFF.an onion girl: It really WOULD. DEATH MATCH.runpunkrun: That would be awesome.

And Punk doesn't even watch NCIS. SEE how she loves me?

And so, here's a freebie. Tony DiNozzo & John Sheppard SHOWERING TOGETHER. First one to write it wins a GIANT PONY.

_The Ugly:Eminem divorces Kim again and the world barely stirs as not a single person is surprised. That's just a metaphor, I'm just psycho, I get a little bit crazy, baby, I get a little bit out of control with my rhymes...

_The Bad: There ain't no bad. Tis all good, say Jah, all de time. /Herbal

runpunkrun wrote My New Pants for ME, and you can LOOKIT but don't TOUCH 'cause those gay pants are MINE MINE MINE. This be Scrubs, and here be the gayest pants to hit the Internet since Johnny Depp played a pirate. There's JD/Cox and Zombie Elvis and the Janitor, and even the Todd can't resist the wild pull of the gay. JD's rump is firm, like mutton, and I pass his ceremonial rump into Punk's outstretched hands, as she is the reigning Queen of Scrubs on the Internet as of Today, April Five.

Everyone go read My New Pants, and then come back and tell me how lucky I am to have a punk like Punk.

Karma rewarded me 'cause sangerin turned out to be my remixer too, and gifted me with the excellent Kathypov vision of Chakotay and Trinnie in Homesickness. I am a lucky bitch.

_The Shameful:

I'm writing Max in heat in S2. Not even because I want to. But because I am compelled to. Because the show didn't! DUDE. She and Logan can't touch! S2's TPTB have no idea what eroticism is and must be blamed and mocked accordingly, and so I'm taking one for the team, yo, and writing "Meow" in S2 with latex gloves. I do it because I must. I write to live! I have lost all, count 'em, all, of mein marbles.

Oh, my god, EVERYBODY. runpunkrun wrote this When the Subject is a Fraction, where Rodney let Cadman get under his skin and release his hidden gay. Punk is like a SCULPTOR, and she can take this chunk of rock and carve away everything that isn't Rodney. Contents: hot blondes, screws, kisses. Marvelous.

Am back from a very inspiring and productive WBC class, feeling pumped about this pilot. And I have new SGA! runpunkrun, disk is in the mail tomorrow, tick-a-lock and so forth, go be in a variable time-speed room and come back and read this post in, like, three days.

Like four and a half years ago Punk and I sought an opportunity to use the title "Travelling with Children" and also find an excuse to crossover XF and SN. So we did this thing, where they were going to play Clue for a long time and it was going to be very profound, but instead we forgot about it and did other things for several years.

Now, instead of letting it languish, we are pleased to present, in all its semi-unfinished glory, a story that we quite possibly started even BEFORE we wrote the Millionnaires XO. Could it be true?

runpunkrun and I are smoking so much Rodney crack over here we've fallen into our teenaged X-Phile selves and find ourselves under the bleachers all scandalous and writing bad poetry. Punk, however, and of course we've learned to expect it from her, fandom after fandom, is writing, instead, good fic, that you people will get to read some day. *I*, for I am special, get to read it now. And, it's just, we're toast. We've fully surrendered to this impossible, pudgy, brilliant man.

iamsab: Damnit that's a good paragraph.runpunkrun: Rodney's got such poor impulse control.iamsab: It's because you SURRENDERED to the COMMA PARENTHETICAL.iamsab: He really does.runpunkrun: I do love the comma parenthetical, I do.iamsab: Mmmm.iamsab: Yeah, it's such a sexy, dangerous lover.runpunkrun: So quick to get out of hand!iamsab: Totally.iamsab: Next thing you know you're having sex with it 24 hours a day and ordering in chinese food you never get to eat.runpunkrun: And then, somewhere between the kitchen counter and the shower, you forget how this started and what your point even was.iamsab: And you have no clean laundry left and you've been fired from your job and the comma parenthetical is just lounging there, moist-eyed and desperate.runpunkrun: And you just wish you could end it, somehow.iamsab: It doesn't take rejection well.

I ain't here to talk about New Year's, or to squee about how much I'm enjoying Battlestar Galactica or how much I liked the ten episodes of Odyssey 5 we got. I also ain't here to tell you how projectjulie and I are going to meta ourselves into oblivion and take over the WORLD, because I don't have time.

2) runpunkrun and I have been harboring the worst-kept secret in fandom, and it's time to come clean. *I* am Spartacus! *WE* are V. Salmone!

V. is an entirely fictitious fiction writer who lives in the entirely plausible town of Corpus Christi, Texas, who wrote such X-Files hits as The Second-to-Last 7-Eleven (the one with Charlie and the Major Crimes Unit) and How To Fake an Orgasm (the one where Mulder eats yams and his fish have names).

You should visit all our personas here at Punk and Sab's House of Fruit Pies, and you should enjoy this little ditty we wrote in the Bahamas in honor of our coming-out cotillion:

Seems I've reached that point in my financial career where it has become necessary to sell the Jetta. Had you asked me six months ago, I'd've said the scrappy little beast came in second to my crusty old Audi 200 Quattro, which died a coughing, sputtering death on Waverly Place in Greenwich Village in the middle of one balmy spring night seven years ago.

But now, faced with imminent separation, I've got no choice but to acknowledge what a solid little trooper the Jetta was, a good friend, a partner in crime.

I got the Jetta my last year in college, spring 1998. It was four years old then, scarcely 20k miles to its name. Black, no airconditioning, no glove compartment (how's that for a mystery?).

My college roommate and I took it across the country that summer. We took the southern route, all the way down through Austin, TX, did the trip in ten days and then I was an LA girl.

The Jetta took me to San Francisco in '00, with fialka; we grabbed runpunkrun and did a whistle-stop POTUS and Leo tour up the Pacific Coast Highway, visiting midnight dinosaurs and driving through trees. We were as clever as a piece of toast. We made it all the way to Portland with only one flat tire. Fi and I drove back singing musicals; we swam in the reservoir when the black car got too hot.

Two years later, the Jetta and I drove back to New York, packed with all the things we'd brought over in '98. kormantic recorded fanfiction on tape for me to listen to. We took the middle route so we could stop in Kansas City and pick up wearemany at the airport, and she and I drove the rest of the way together and wrote "Fan Interference is a Stand-Up Double" in the baseball field in the middle of the night.

This past June, the Jetta and I packed up our old kit back and headed back for LA, this time via Chicago, where we met up with ptpatricia and caravanned the rest of the way, through the Rockies and the Sierras, listening to our books on tape.

The AAA guy came this morning to change the most recent flat tire. I cleaned out the car for the last time, washed it with a dishtowel and dish soap. Breanna and Chris, the nice people who answered my craigslist ad, are coming over at six to give it a test drive, but they need to buy quick and I need to sell quick. I'm trying to call the DMV in NY to get a new copy of the title.

The Jetta's got a slow oil leak and a tendency to pop tires like chewing gum, but aside from that, it's a workhorse, a stallion even. I'm gonna cry to see it go. Damn good car, man, damn good car, and I'm gonna miss it like crazy.

I'm home, anyway. I was in Portland, Oregon, with runpunkrun and shaye and Shaye's hair. And circusgirl though we somehow...and it didn't go, quite. *waving at Jess*

But I've got a little polar bear called Iorek and a big black bear called -- I forgot what the big black bear's called, and a riff on Jenga and pickup sticks with monkeys in and Parcheesi with water buffalos in and a baby rhino, because when runpunkrun and I take on a city, apparently a safari-type weather system moves in.

Coming home, I listened to the air tower channel on the airplane headphones, and for the last ten minutes one air traffic controller at LAX wrangled ten flights at differing altitudes and speed with the grace of a prima choreographer and I was so impressed I took notes which say things like: "above traffic" "below traffic" "confirm either aircraft or tower" "non-heavy airbus" "on short final" "follow the airbus" and "taxi charlie to the gate." I took three Ativan for the flight in and not a single one for the flight home, because somehow the all tower control station serves a similarly reassuring purpose. I think I feel okay about the sky again.

Still, dude, I leave LJ and people have, like, birthdays (HAPPY HAL, Hal!) and so forth. And the Gangs of New York (quasiradiant, furies, rfkfortheusa and the International Princess intl_princess) tried to call and I missed 'em, everybody say HOWDY, say PARTY, lovingkindness winging its way east to you.

Thursday's my last day of work. This is a lot of information for one LJ entry, especially for one so cold and tired as I am.

I leave you with this thought: I bought three different interpretations of The Epic of Gilgamesh at Powell's and after I read them all I have some things to say about them, as well as the updated Kurt Cobain high school set Gilgamesh play I saw last week.

Lost in the desert, too cold to think, you gotta know about the milk truck if you wanna drink.